


A Little Late

by anorchidisnotaflower



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Electrocution, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anorchidisnotaflower/pseuds/anorchidisnotaflower
Summary: “No, no, no, I mean…” Riddler trailed off, blinking rapidly. “I don’t understand.”“Youbrought up the whole love debacle and said that was why I was in there,” Penguin said. “Not me. My question is,why?"After the events of 3x19, Oswald and Ed sort out their differences.





	A Little Late

Penguin would never admit to using the remaining five hours of his agreement with Ed—sorry, _the Riddler_ —to spruce up in preparation to kill him, but, alas, he had to concede defeat. He had to ensure that his suit was pristine, his hair just so, and his chosen blade sharpened to gleaming before he carried it through. Penguin wasn’t often one for showmanship, unlike a certain green-clad idiot, but this had to be done and it had to be done _right_.

It wasn’t hard to figure out where the Riddler was hiding out—his flair for the dramatic extended to his place of residence, and the disco lights weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Penguin scoffed as he crossed the threshold, eyeing the many paintings and tokens dotting the room. _Never would have marked down Ed for a drama queen_ , he thought. _Then again—_

The sound of rapidly-approaching footsteps distracted him from his thoughts and, lo and behold, there was the man himself, rounding the corner with bowler hat in place.

“Going somewhere?” Penguin called out, enjoying the little gasp of surprise from the Riddler.

“Wh—Oswald?” He stilled in his tracks, gloved hands poised above his lapels.

Penguin rolled his eyes. “Now really, _Riddler_ , if you’re going to ask me to use your ridiculous new name, you’re going to have to pay back the favor.”

Riddler narrowed his eyes. “Penguin, then.”

Penguin inclined his head. “Thank you. Now,” he said, stepping quickly within arm’s reach, “shall we get down to business?”

Before he could even pull his knife, Riddler had already started to move, ducking down in hopes of avoiding the incoming strike. Scowling, Penguin uncapped the concealed blade in his cane and struck, hoping to at least spear a limb or two.

When he pulled back, though, all that came with it was the Riddler’s bowler hat.

And the Riddler himself was already dashing his way out of there on those stupidly-long legs of his, sprinting out some back exit or another.

Trembling with rage, Penguin threw the blade and hat on the ground. “You can’t run from me forever, _Edward!"_

With one final scowl, he stepped on the hat, crushing it beneath his foot, and stormed off. There were secondary plans to make.

\---

Penguin blearily opened his eyes, feeling a pounding toward the back of his skull. He’d have to have a talk with the freak family later about 'protecting one another' and 'keeping an eye out for anyone sneaking up on me, you idiots.'

“Well, well, well,” an all-too-familiar voice said. “Someone’s finally awake.”

“Oh, shut up, Riddler,” Penguin muttered. “I have a headache, no thanks to _you_.”

“Goody!” Riddler said, his gloved hands audibly clapping together. Penguin glanced up, noting that the Riddler was a fair distance away, holding some sort of remote. Meanwhile, Penguin was strapped into a chair, arms and legs connected to some sort of blinking device.

“Another bomb? _Really?"_ Penguin sighed. “It’s been two weeks—can’t you think of something more original?”

Riddler gasped, clutching his hand to his chest in mock-surprise. “Why, _Penguin!_ How rude. Aren’t you the one with all the knives?”

“Yes, but that’s my _thing_ ,” Penguin retorted. “You’re supposed to riddle me to death or something.”

“Well then,” Riddler smirked. “I think you’ll like this one.”

He held the remote aloft, waving his free hand about. “As you can see, this remote here controls the electric charge sent by that device next to you.”

Riddler held three fingers aloft. “You only need to answer three riddles. Get them right, and you die mercifully. Get them wrong…”

The Riddler turned up the knob on the remote and Penguin felt an electric current surge through him, jolting him this way and that in the chair. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain and Riddler’s accompanying laughter.

With a start, the pain ceased, and Penguin sank low in the chair, breathing heavily. 

“You get the point,” Riddler said. 

Penguin glared up at him, saying nothing.

“Now!” Riddler clapped again. “Let’s begin. What force and strength cannot get through, I with a gentle touch can do. Many in these halls would stand were I not, as a friend, at hand.”

The Riddler threw his hands up in a flourish. “What am I?”

Penguin stared him down. “I don’t know, air?”

Riddler smiled. “Wrong.”

Electricity shot up and down Penguin’s limbs, tearing a scream out of him. It ended just as quickly as it began, and Penguin looked wearily at Riddler.

“The answer was a key!” Riddler exclaimed. “Let’s try another.”

“Let’s not,” Penguin sighed. “Look, Ed—"

“I am a useful tool for those who in darkness dwell,” Riddler interrupted, eyes narrowed. “Within you, I corrupt like a deadly spell. _What am I?"_

“Ed. I’m not going to answer any of your stupid ridd—“

“Wrong!” Riddler yanked the knob up as Penguin’s words dissolved, pain coursing through his body like fire. “The answer was _poison_.”

Penguin glared up at the Riddler, snarling. “I don’t care about your riddles, Edward. You and I both know that I’m going to get out of here, easy as pie, and we’ll keep dancing around one another until someone does something different.”

“It’s the _Riddler_ ,” he snapped. “And dancing around _what?"_

Penguin scowled. “It’s been two weeks and neither one of us has died at the other’s hand yet. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty sick of trying.”

“Does that mean you’re giving up?” Riddler smirked, fingers reaching for the knob on the remote.

“What? No!” Penguin shouted, Riddler’s hand pausing. “I’m just… confused.”

“About what?”

“Ed,” Penguin said, over the Riddler’s muttered retort, “why did you bring up the fact that I loved you in the cells?”

Riddler stared. “What?”

Penguin rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember because I _know_ you, and—"

“No, no, no, I mean…” Riddler trailed off, blinking rapidly. “I don’t understand.”

“ _You_ brought up the whole love debacle and said that was why I was in there,” Penguin said. “Not me. My question is, _why?"_

“I… I don’t—"

“Don’t lie to me, Ed!” Penguin spat. “You and I both know there’s something going on with you, and I want to know what it is.”

The Riddler suddenly regained his composure, stepping right into Penguin’s face. “There. Is. _Nothing_. Going on. With me.”

“That’s a lie.”

Riddler snarled, holding up the remote. “I’d like to remind you that I could kill you anytime I wanted, and your _attitude_ isn’t _helping_.”

“You slapped me in the face, for crying out loud!” Penguin snarled right back. “To check if I was, what, _real?"_

The Riddler’s scowl dropped for a fraction of a second, and Penguin swore he could see fear in his eyes. “Oswald—”

But the sound of a car pulling up outside stopped him from saying anything more.

Penguin smirked. “Sorry to cut this short, but that’s my ride.”

Riddler jumped up, spinning to see Bridgit burning through the warehouse door. As he sprinted away, Penguin shouted after him, “Get back to me when you’ve sorted yourself out!”

\---

Rain pattered the windows of the manor as Penguin reclined in his usual chair at the head of the table, glass of wine in hand. He swirled it absentmindedly, thinking.

There hadn’t been any sightings of the Riddler in over a week, and Penguin was starting to wonder if he was planning something big. _Or if he’s finally sorted out whatever’s going on with him_ , Penguin thought, taking a sip.

The sound of the doorbell drew him out of his musings. Bridgit and Fries were out for the night, and Ivy was off somewhere looking for Selina, so who…?

The doorbell rang again, seeming more insistent. Penguin sighed, placing his glass down on the table and snatching up his cane. _I swear, if it’s one of those freaks at this time of night—_

Penguin pulled open the door, ready to argue, when he came face-to-chest with the Riddler himself.

“Hello, Oswald.”

Penguin slammed the door, muffling Riddler’s protests. He stormed back to the table, ready to sit it out, when the doorbell rang again—three times, in quick succession.

Penguin closed his eyes, struggling to maintain his composure. _If I leave him there, he’ll just keep bothering me until he breaks in or I let him in_ , Penguin thought, scowling. He turned back to the door, yanking it open to see Riddler’s hand poised over the doorbell.

“ _What?"_ he snarled.

The Riddler smiled, ever the charmer. “May I come in?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Penguin stared at him.

Riddler held up his hands, ungloved and open. “No weapons. No murder attempts. Promise.”

Penguin didn’t say a word.

Riddler sighed. “And no riddles.”

“Fine,” Penguin said, whirling around. “But don’t expect me to be a good host.”

The Riddler stepped inside, taking measure of the burn spots on the carpet, the wet seat on the couch, and the significant number of plants in the foyer. “I see your… new friends have been staying with you.”

Penguin rolled his eyes. “They’re messy roommates. No manners at all.” He snatched up his glass of wine and took a swig, gesturing at Riddler. “Well?”

Riddler took his (crushed, Penguin noted happily) bowler hat off and held it in his hands, fidgeting with the brim. “I was… hoping I could talk to you. Alone.”

Penguin took another sip. “I’m all ears.”

Riddler sighed. “Oswald, I… I’ve been… trying to sort out some… things. This past week.”

Penguin took his seat. “Go on.”

“And, well…” Riddler trailed off. “I…”

There was a beat of silence.

“Ed, I swear to you, if you don’t spit it out in the next minute, I’m killing you right here and now,” Penguin said, planting his glass on the table.

“That’s just the thing,” Riddler said, gesturing with his hat. “When I killed you, or, well, thought I killed you, I… killed a part of myself, too.”

Penguin snorted. “Told you so.”

Riddler glared at him, but there was no heat behind it—only fear. _There it is again_ , Penguin thought. _That_ look.

“I took drugs,” Ed said, quietly.

“What?” Penguin asked, incredulous. “What does that even have to do with—”

"Hallucinogens,” Ed responded, heated. ““I took them to see _you_. I couldn’t—I couldn’t be who I was meant to be, without, without…”

“Without me,” Oswald finished, just as quiet.

Ed nodded, looking down. “I cared about you, Oswald. And I missed you.”

Oswald stared at him, the past three weeks dropping away like a curtain. “All this time…?”

Ed met Oswald’s eyes, his own shining. “I told you, that night in the cells, that I _didn’t_ love you. Not… not don’t.”

Oswald blinked. “ _Oh_ ,” he breathed.

Ed glanced away. “If—If you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine. I just—I just wanted to tell you. Because you asked. I owe you that much.”

He turned to leave, donning the hat once more. “I’ll see myself out.”

Oswald stared after him, paralyzed. His thoughts swirled, darting this way and that: _but he—and I—he couldn’t possibly—I just—_

Until they suddenly settled on one clear, firm resolution:

_I can’t lose him again._

Oswald stood up from the table, shoving his chair back in the process, and ran to the door. “Ed!”

He spotted him walking down the path, his long legs carrying him away far too quickly for Oswald’s liking. “ _ED!"_

Ed stopped. Oswald stood in the doorway, staring out through the rain. “Ed, _please_ ,” he called, but it came out as a whisper.

Ed turned, rain splashing off his hat rather ridiculously. For a moment, they just stared at one another, caught in between the rain and the manor, caught in between apart and together.

And then the moment broke as Oswald ran from the doorway, moving as fast as he could to get to Ed’s waiting arms. They crashed together, Ed’s arms wrapping around Oswald’s trembling frame, and Oswald ran his arms up and down Ed’s back, thinking only _he’s here, he’s here, we’re here, we’re_ here.

“Oswald,” Ed whispered, his voice hoarse. Oswald looked up at him, and he couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears that ran down Ed’s face.

“ _Ed_ ,” he said, reaching a hand up to brush Ed’s cheeks. Ed leaned into the touch, and all Oswald could do was _breathe_.

Ed leaned down, and Oswald tilted his head up to meet his, rain coursing down both their faces. Ed tasted like saltwater and mint, and he was so, so _gentle_ , far more than he had any right to be.

It was only when the two of them started shaking that they broke apart.

“Y-you’re shivering,” Oswald said, hands cupping Ed’s face.

Ed smiled, and Oswald wanted to cry. “So are you.”

They held one another a moment longer, stuck together with rain and heat and this great budding _something_ hovering between them, before Oswald grabbed Ed’s hand. 

“Come on,” he said, tugging him along. “Let’s get inside before we get soaked.”

Ed laughed, letting himself be pulled past the threshold. “A little late for that, I think.”

Oswald grinned up at him, wondering how on earth they would sort this all out and not caring a bit. “I’ll make tea.”


End file.
